


It's Time

by SherlockChlo



Series: Young at Heart [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Drug Use, First Love, First Time, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Self-Harm, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-07-10 09:49:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6978433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockChlo/pseuds/SherlockChlo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes (16) meets John Watson (17) for the first time at Boarding School, when he places himself between Sherlock's face and Anderson's fist. Could this be the start of something beautiful?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so this is basically a re-write of 'The Detective Underneath' as I hate it... And I needed something to do. I hope that you enjoy this much better than the other one (although you can give that a read here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1159790/chapters/2356127 (sneaky promo)). 
> 
> Thank you for reading :)

_Sherlock's POV_

**Boarding School** _Noun:_ A school at which the pupils receive board and lodgings during the school term

 _Or_ a place where rich ‘parents’ dump their kids when they have had enough of pretending to care for them. It’s all designed so that the parents can carry on, earning copious amounts of money, without the responsibilities of parenthood that they were clearly not prepared for.

Do my parents fit into this category?

Well, my mother is a retired mathematician who knowns nothing about anything, and my father is a complete and utter fool, following my mother around like a lap-dog. Sometimes I wonder how two idiots managed to have children like Mycroft and I. I fear the solution would take up too much brain power to solve, however.

Besides this, my father came from a relatively rich family, he himself being sent off to boarding school at the earliest availability (by parents who clearly did not love him), who left him rather a lot of money when they died.

Being hopelessly devoted to his work (as a bee keeper), my father didn’t spend any of the money, until he met my mother, and they decided that _marriage_ would be the best next step in their relationship. Nine months later, after a rather exotic (so, I hear) honeymoon, Mycroft arrived on the 13th of October (two weeks late, might I add) and blessed the World with his enormous presence, so my mother had to put her mathematics career on hold.

When Mycroft was six, he found out that our mother was having another child, one that had taken her completely by surprise, meaning that by the time he was seven I was on the scene and the rest, as they say, is history.

Well, my parents still didn’t spend their money until someone suggested that, due to Mycroft’s impeccable intelligence, they should send him to boarding school. This was when I was six.

By this time, he had entertained my childish Pirate fantasies for long enough, and decided to piss off and leave me with all the idiots in the house: my mother, a woman who showered both of us in far too much love; my father, whose obsession with bees led me to having my own obsession with bees (they really are fascinating); and Michael, the young man who looked after the horses, and who I snogged against a barn wall last summer.

Michael was relatively interesting when I went home every summer, keeping me entertained with talk of horses, and of women that he fancied in the village. From the moment I met him, aged twelve, he swore on anything that he was completely heterosexual. I made it my mission to change that.

It took me four summers, but it was worth it in the end.

During term time, I too was sent to boarding school to endure the complete idiocy of the other males there. A surprisingly large amount of the other boys there had actually gotten some form of scholarship to get into the school, as their parents were unable to afford Eton as a full time, and full expense, school for said child.

I was also placed two years ahead of my own year group, which was something that rarely happened, hence I wasn’t put forward more, as Mycroft had been before me.

I’ve experienced my share of bullying during my time here, but Mycroft said that this was expected, because people were jealous of our highly advanced intelligence. He too had experienced this bullying, especially from those boys who had extremely rich parents (refer to above), and felt that he didn’t fit into the boarding school ideals.

The worst boy was in my year, however. His name was Philip Anderson, apparently dating a girl named Amelia Lockhart, but instead focusing a lot of his time on another girl named Sally Donovan (it was obvious that the two were seeing each other behind Amelia’s back, but it appears that Anderson did not like this information).

From the moment that I mentioned the white stain around Sally’s mouth, in front of the entire maths class, after her trip to the caretaker’s closet in the middle of the lesson with Anderson, the two have had a vendetta against me, that has never really gone away. That was two and a half years ago.

From then on, the two started a rumour claiming that my mother was sleeping with Headmaster, Mycroft was sleeping with the Deputy Head, and that I was sleeping with my Chemistry teacher. While I cannot be sure about Mycroft, I know that my mother would _never_ cheat on my father (something about love, apparently), and that I do not need to sleep my way into getting good grades. Sally, on the other hand…

Currently it is February, I have recently turned sixteen, and I am in my last year of A Levels. In a matter of months, I can leave this infernal school and make my way into the real World.

This year though there is something, well someone, to keep me entertained. Someone, finally, who is actually interesting. Mainly because they’ve only joined the school for the last year of their education. In my mind, this seems completely illogical, but apparently it’s something to do with the boy (John Watson) needing to be away from his parents for a certain period of time.

What better place than a boarding school?

John Watson arrived at school on the first day back in September, blonde hair shining in the, surprisingly hot, sun and dragging a suitcase behind him.

I remember the day well. It was the day that I deduced about another of Anderson’s affairs, when the girl in questions walked into me outside the school gates.

Looking her up and down, I managed to keep my voice down slightly, as my eyes rolled, “How Anderson manages to sleep with so many girls is beyond me,” which unfortunately was not quiet enough for Amelia Lockhart, who overheard my question, and immediately dragged Anderson over to ‘sort me out’, as he so eloquently put it.

“What shit are you spreading this year, Holmes?” he snapped, his face so close to my own, that our noses touched, and his spit hit me in the face.

“Everything I spread is completely true, and based upon hard evidence,” I had replied, scowling slightly at his attempt to intimidate me, “evidence that your liaisons always seem to miss before they return to the normal World. Is there anything else you would like to kno-“

The fist to my nose cut me off completely, I am ashamed to admit.

This was not the first time that Anderson had used physical violence against me. According to Gavin Lestrade, it was his tactic to shut anyone up that threatened his position as one of the popular students of the school.

What I didn’t predict, however, was another body moving in front of my own to stop the next blow from hitting its target. John Watson’s, clearly rugby built, body was in between my bleeding nose, and Anderson’s fist (which was twisted behind his back now).

“I don’t know who you think you are, but beating up school students is not what makes you popular these days,” he said, causing other students, who had stopped to watch ‘ _the freak_ ’ being beaten up, to laugh. He smiled at them all, pushing Anderson to the floor, and turning back round to me.

Holing out his hand, he asked, “What would you do without me?”

Refusing to take the hand, and therefore the bait, I pushed myself off the floor, and stared directly into his eyes, “I don’t know who you think _you_ are, but I don’t need protecting,”

I could feel my nose scrunching, so I had turned away from him, attempting to walking away to find my room, and my new roommate.

“Watson, John Watson. No problem, I’m glad to help,” I had heard him grumble to himself as he picked up his own bags from where he’d dumped them on the floor, his blue eyes rolling around on his face.

Just as I had made it to the door of the dorm building, I turned and shouted, “The name’s Sherlock Holmes,” with a little wink, before entering the building, and signing my name in at the ‘reception desk’ (a table that they had put there for this very special day).

Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be that last that I saw of John Watson, who had, for some reason, prevented Anderson from continuing his battle against the freaks of the school.

My room was in Block 2, room 21B, and was like every other room in the building. Dull. Grey. Boring.

Lying on the bed, I had decided to think about the events of the morning, blood still dripping down my face (now with tissues given to me by reception to try and prevent some of the bleeding), and my fingers pressed together under my chin.

After five minutes of replaying the fight, if one could call it that, in my head, I heard a key make its way forcefully into the lock on the bedroom door. I waited, watching the door with interest.

The key turned, the door opened.

My mouth opened slightly, hoping that this wasn’t the person that I thought I would be seeing.

“Hello again.”


	2. Chapter 2

_John's POV_

Growing up in a small village, where everyone knew everyone else (and, coincidently, all their secrets), I believed that boarding school was a place where rich parents would send their rich kids in order for them to be surrounded by other rich people throughout their lives.

So, imagine my surprise when I received a phone call from a school (that I didn’t even remember applying to), telling me that they had watched me play rugby, and were willing to give me a scholarship to their school (for both my academic and sports ability, apparently), and that I had a ‘small’ induction interview the following Thursday if I wanted it.

When I confronted my mum about the strange phone call, she told me that she had applied on my behalf as she wanted the last year of my A Levels to be as peaceful and focused as they could be. She didn’t say it, but I knew that she wanted to get me as far away from my dad as possible, just as Harry had managed to do two years previously.

Sadly, it wasn’t soon enough, as Harry seems to have followed my dad into the dark realms of alcohol.

According to my mum, my dad had been drinking long before Harry and I were born. My parents were not very well off. My mum spent her twenties attempting to finish her course and become a nurse (which she still struggles to be to this day), while my dad travelled around the country in an attempt to become famous with his band.

When he hit thirty, however, it seemed that the parties and drugs that he’d been doing caught up with him, leading him into a deep depression that he’s never attempted to get himself out of. The alcohol didn’t help.

So, when my mum had Harry aged thirty two, my dad had already deeply embedded himself into an unescapable spiral.

I was born three years later, on July 7th, and my mum has raised me single handed for nearly eighteen years.

I blame Harry’s alcohol issues entirely on my dad, of course. I mean, what else would you expect when you have a father who has drunk excessively for over twenty three years, and has extreme homophobia issues. He kicked Harry out one night, after he found her with her girlfriend at the time on the sofa.

Being fourteen at the time, and unable to properly understand what was happening between my sister and her girlfriend (or so I told people), it didn’t really register in my mind that there was something wrong with the way my dad was controlling all of our lives. I was too busy trying to find out all I could about the armed forces from my uncle.

His name was Sebastian. I’d only see him every now and again, when he came back from tours and the like, but he was the only role model that I really had growing up. My dad didn’t have any living family, so it was up to my mum’s side to help me through life.

Uncle Seb was a fantastic role model, being in the army and all. He’d always tell me gruesome stories about his army mates and how they’d slowly begun declining as the wars around the World increased. He never cried though, telling those stories.

That was until one day, when I was fifteen, my mum came to school and attempted to take me home early. I’d protested, asked her why, and she’d told me that Uncle Sebastian, or Captain Nicholls, had been killed in action earlier this morning.

I didn’t cry at his funeral. I couldn’t.

Standing by his grave, however, I promised that I would make him proud of me; I would join the army in his memory and be everything that he had been.

My mum had other ideas. She wanted me to study A Levels, give myself plenty of opportunities in the future. I listened to her because she was right. Studying A Levels would open up more opportunities for me in the army, as well as when I finished my term.

When the call from the boarding school came in, I didn’t really see the point in leaving the school where I currently studied, where all my friends were, just to run away from my father and spend a year at a school full of posh, stuck up twats.

It was inevitable that I would go. My mum knew me too well.

The interview was in June, which went annoyingly well. I would start school in September, which pleased my mum greatly. That summer I spent all my time partying with friends, and trying to fix the friendships that I knew would break after my move to the other school.

I think it’s safe to say that I was not at all excited for what I would find.

My first day didn’t exactly go as I had planned it to go. As soon as I had walked through the gates, turning back slightly to wave at my mum as she drove off (leaving me alone to face the inevitable fires of hell), I was pushed aside by several people in their attempt to drag themselves, and their belongings, to the front of a large crowd of people.

I couldn’t really see what was happening from the distance I stood at, but as I moved closer, dragging my relatively large suitcase behind me, the mumbled shouts of the crowds became crystal clear words: “get the freak”.

When a loud cheer began, I realised that they were watching someone being beaten to a pulp.

Before I knew what I was doing, I had dropped my suitcase and shoulder bag on the floor, and had caught the bully’s fist in my own before it could connect with the kid on the floor again. I hadn’t even looked at the boy (so it seemed) on the floor before putting myself between him and the rather butch body of the popular kid.

When the guy attempted to pull his fist from my hand, I used a tactic that Uncle Seb had taught me a few years before (“Only when you’re in real danger though, John.” “Of course.”), and twisted the guy’s arm behind his back and pulled it so that it nearly touched his neck. He screamed out in pain.

Hitching his arm slightly higher, I sneered, “I don’t know who you think you are, but beating up school students is not what makes you popular these days”, and threw him onto the floor. The other students around me smiled. I didn’t like it.

I turned to look at the body on the floor, a mixture of slightly too pale skin, dark curls, and blood, I held my hand out to him and asked jokingly, “What would you do without me?”

It appeared that the kid didn’t like this question, because he pushed himself off of the floor and looked at me as though I was the one who had been putting my fist in his face, “I don’t know who you think _you_ are, but I don’t need protecting,”

With that, he stormed towards his bags, and walked off scowling at me.

“Watson, John Watson. No problem, I’m glad to help,” I grumbled, walking back over to my own suitcase and fumbling around for the map that I had printed off of the school.

The ungrateful little shit, who appeared to be a couple of years younger than myself, didn’t even show me to where we were supposed to register ourselves, after I’d just saved him from a completely destroyed nose.

I watched him walk towards a building, which I presumed was a block of dorms, when he turned back and squinted at me slightly, “The name’s Sherlock Holmes,” he shouted back at me, winking slightly from what I could see, before disappearing into the building.

A hand clapping me on the shoulder had brought me out of my daydream about strangling the other boy, and I turned to find another guy, with brown hair and a smile that could cause girls to faint, smirking at me slightly.

Holding his hand out, he said, “My name’s Gregory Lestrade, but most people call me Greg,” he paused for a moment, still waiting for me to take his hand, “only my boyfriend calls me Gregory,” he giggled.

I had felt my eyebrow furrowing, so I took the other boy’s hand in mine and shook it.

“John Watson,”

“So, John, I haven’t seen you around here before. I don’t suppose you’re that rugby captain that everyone has been talking about, are you? Come here to whip our sorry backsides into shape?”

I paused, looking Greg up and down, “How do you know that?”

Greg smiled again, showing all of his teeth in the process, “Everyone knows who you are, John. You’re all the rugby coaches would talk about before we broke up for the holidays. ‘John Watson is famous in his village, blah blah blah’,”

“I’m not _famous_ ,” I had attempted to defend myself, but it was useless.

“Also, word’s already gotten out about the new blonde kid who stopped Anderson from beating Sherlock Holmes to a pulp,” his hand once again found my shoulder as we started to walk towards the dorm building, “well done for that, by the way. Not many people rush to stop Sherlock’s enemies. Especially when protecting him from Anderson,”

“I don’t really like seeing people being bullied,”

“Me neither mate. Anyway, I’ve gotta go and monitor the halls,” he smiled, proudly flashing his Head Boy badge at me, before clapping me on the shoulder again, “It was nice to meet you, John. I’ll look forward to seeing you at practice,”

I smiled sincerely at the other boy, he’d been nice enough to show me where I was going after all, “See you, Greg. Thanks for your help,”

“No problem,”

Signing my name in at the makeshift reception I had watched the other students filing in around me, and attempting to push their way to be first in line to see who their dorm mates were.

Finding my own name was easy enough, it was the name that had been next to mine that had made me shiver slightly. _Oh god_ I had thought.

I found the room easily enough, thanks to some quick directions from a very lovely brunette on the way up the stairs, it was entering it that I had found difficult.

Taking a deep breath, I had placed my key inside the keyhole and twisted it, pushing the door open.

My eyes had quickly scanned the room, taking in every detail that they could, before they had fallen upon the other boy in the room.

I smiled slightly, “Hello again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, so this will be my last update before my mocks, but I'll try and get one up as soon as they're over. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s a friend,”  
> John snorted, “A friend?” he replied, drawing out the second half of the word.  
> “Is it uncommon for people to have friends?”  
> “If they’re inanimate objects, particularly skulls, then yes.”

_Third Person POV_

Standing in the doorway, John looked at the bare, white walls and chuckled slightly once he caught sight of something rather unusual on the floor.

“Is-is that a _skull_?” he crouched down so that he was looking almost directly into the object’s eyes, “how does it stare like that? It doesn’t even _have eyes_ to stare with,”

From his position on the floor, John felt another pointed gaze staring directly at him. Raising his head, he met a cold set of eyes and a furrowed brow. The curly haired head was titled slightly in question, making John chuckle quietly.

“It’s a friend,”

John snorted, “A friend?” he replied, drawing out the second half of the word.

“Is it uncommon for people to have friends?”

“If they’re inanimate objects, particularly skulls, then yes.”

Sherlock’s head titled back to its normal position, his hands moving under his chin, “you are under the impression that because you stopped Anderson from assaulting me that you have the authority to judge my life,”

John held his hands up in surrender, standing up from the floor, “Woah. Did I touch a raw nerve?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed even further.

“You’re very easy to read, _John Watson_ ,” he said, looking the older teen up and down where he stood.

“Oh, am I now?” the response was slightly arrogant, but laced with intrigue. John closed the door with his foot and leant against it, hands in his pockets, “go ahead,”

“John Watson, Captain of the rugby team. The typical guy that every girl wants, and every guy wants to be. You have had eleven, no, twelve relationships with different girls over the last two years, all from different schools and backgrounds from the others.

“Your father is an alcoholic, and your brother is slowly following in his footsteps. Judging by the way you’re able to defend yourself in a violent situation, I would say that he’s not exactly a guy that treats any of you well,” despite this comment, John’s slight smirk didn’t leave his face, “why haven’t you reported him, John? Ah, you’re worried that he won’t be very forgiving when he gets out of prison.

“Judging by the dog tags around your neck, I’d say that you had a family member in the armed forces; someone who you were close to and fuelled your passion to join the army yourself.”

When Sherlock’s eyes trailed along John’s form again, he found the other boy still leaning on the door, but with his chin resting on his chest, fists clenched at his side.

“Now, for the drinking-“

“How could you _possibly_ know about the drinking?”

“Shot in the dark really. You clutch your phone very tightly to your body, but it doesn’t hide the scratch marks. You don’t drink regularly, unless you go to a house party with friends, and the phone has the engraving ‘Harry Watson’ on it. Not your phone then? Your brother’s. You never see a drunk’s phone without the scratch marks.”

Sherlock stood from where he sat, turning towards the window to look out onto the school grounds. He didn’t particularly want to look John in the eye when the inevitable rejection happened.

“That was _extraordinary_ ,”

Sherlock choked slightly, turning to stare harshly at the blonde.

“ _Excuse me_ ,”

“I said, that was absolutely extraordinary. How did you guess all of that?”

“I never guess, John,” he straightened himself up slightly, folding his hands behind his back, “do you really think so? That it’s extraordinary, that is,”

“Of course, why would I not?”

“It’s not what people normally say,”

“What do people normally say?”

“Piss off.”

John finally lifted his head and looked Sherlock dead in the eye, his mouth smiling broadly. He pushed himself off of the door, and walked slightly forward shaking his head.

“Did I miss anything?”

“You didn’t miss anything, per say,”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sherlock snapped, folding his arms in front of him defensively.

“Harry is short for Harriet,” he chuckled, smiling at the taller boy, and turning away to pick up his suitcase.

Sherlock seethed, “Your _sister_. Of course, there is always something,”

John ignored Sherlock to start unpacking. After a while, the stare on his back had begun to annoy him, so he turned, finding Sherlock still standing in the same position, and staring at him.

“Do you mind?” he asked the taller boy, folding his arms across his chest, “some people are trying to unpack and prepare themselves for the harsh new reality of the boarding school life,”

Sherlock blinked but didn’t move from where he stood.

“Yeah, that’s getting a bit scary now,”

The sound of a deep breath sounded through the room, before Sherlock sighed and his eyes narrowed. As Sherlock stared once more at him, John looked the other boy up and down. From the dark curls upon his head, to the piercing grey eyes and the dark blue shirt that was tucked into his jeans. The only thing out of place in his appearance was the plaster and blood dripping from his nose. He was quite the sight.

“Sherlock?” John asked, waving his hand in front of his roommate’s face.

Realisation crossed Sherlock’s features, as he realised that he’d become lost in his own head. It had become an increasingly annoying habit that he couldn’t seem to shake.

“Sorry, I um. You just surprised me, that was all,” he said, as a way of explaining his behaviour. “In fact, we’ve only just met, and that’s the second time today that you have surprised me,”

“Oh really? Well, I’m usually known for surprising people- I’m not what people expect, as I’m sure you’ll see, eventually,”

Sherlock hummed and returned to where he had sat previously, returning his hands to where they had rested underneath his chin before.

“I see that you spoke to George Lestrade on the way here. Did he have anything interesting to say about me?”

“First of all, I’ve been here ten minutes and I know that his name is Greg, not George. Secondly, he congratulated me on standing up to that guy, um, what’s his name?”

“ _Anderson_ ,” he sneered in reply.

“Yeah, him. He also said that he’s looking forward to having me on the team,”

“I wouldn’t trust anything that Lestrade says to you, John. He attempted to convince me that he was single, even though I have evidence that he is, in fact, dating my brother,”

“ _What_?”

“I think it’s scandalous. He believed that he could fool _me_ ,”

John chuckled and picked up some of his shirts to hang in his wardrobe. Sherlock scoffed at him.

“How old is your brother, anyway?”

“Twenty-three,”

John felt his eyes widen and his eyebrows raise, “Your brother is dating someone in Sixth Form? Surely that breaks some form of rule?”

He heard Sherlock chuckle, so he turned to look at him, eyebrows raised even further.

“Don’t be silly, John. Lestrade is twenty years old. He was held back a couple of years because he failed his GCSEs. It appears that, just as some people are put forward in their education, others are held back,”

It was John’s turn to snort, “People don’t get put forward nowadays, Sherlock. Even if they’re a genius,”

“I did,”

“Really?”

“Really, really,”

John smiled to himself, hanging his shirts on their new hangers, and hiding his face from the other teen’s view. Perhaps rooming with Sherlock wouldn’t be such a bad experience after all.

Little did he know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, until next time :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John encounters Sherlock and Victor's relationship together for the first time, and he meets a mysterious man, holding an umbrella, leaning against a black car.

_John’s POV_

It had been a week since I had seen Sherlock. He stopped turning up to Chemistry, and he hadn’t woken me up from any nightmares with his violin. Instead, I wake up covered in cold sweat and wondering where I am.

I felt more alone than ever without the violin music, and my roommate’s crazy ‘deductive’ skills.

It was a Monday when I had been entering my dorm room, expecting it to be void of Sherlock once again, and found Sherlock laying on his back, with Victor wrapped around him. There was smoke coming from Victor’s mouth as he blew it into Sherlock’s own.

_Oh God._

I had heard about Sherlock’s drug habits from Greg, but I didn’t think that it would be as bad as I was seeing in front of me.

Neither of the two had realised that I was standing in the doorway, wrapping each other in a passionate embrace. Before things went too far between them, with me standing in the doorway of _my_ dorm room, I cleared my throat loudly.

Sherlock’s head shot up.

From where I had stood, I could see that his eyes had dilated to an extraordinary extent. He had smiled at me slightly, lopsidedly, and then dropped his head back against Victor’s shoulder, where it had been resting previously.

“Ah, Joooohnn. Have you met Victor?”

The boy in question hadn’t raised his head, but he did give me a little wave.

“We play rugby together, Ssssherly,” Victor had said, taking away the responsibility from me. 

I had hummed in agreement, my hands fisted at my sides in agitation.

When Sherlock realised that I hadn’t moved, or said a word, he had sat up, removing Victor’s arm from his waist, receiving a small ‘ _hey_ ’ in response. His eyebrows had furrowed as he looked me up and down, “What’s wrong?”

I had felt my fists tighten even further against my sides, the anger that I had been feeling showing. Once more, Sherlock had looked me up and down, and smiled again.

“Been busy, haven’t you, Sherlock?” I had asked, the rippling anger showing in my tone. “You never turn up to Chemistry, you know, that thing that people do to get a good education. And yet, you always have the time to fuck around with this dick,”

Sherlock only smiled in response, whatever drug he had taken seriously removing any kind of reason that he had previously had.

“Well, Sherlock,” I had sighed, stepping over the entwined bodies to get to my wallet, “I’ll see you whenever I see you. Try not to kill yourself before then, huh,”

I don’t know why I hadn’t simply shoved him under a cold shower, or at least tried to shake him up a bit, get him out of it. But, I didn’t.

I left him there, giggling on the floor with his _pal_ and left to go and ‘get some air’.

Which was my mistake.

Walking out of the building, I noticed a man standing against a fancy looking black car, holding an umbrella. The smirk on his face reminded me of the Cheshire Cat from ‘ _Alice in Wonderland_ ’, which didn’t fill me with much confidence about why the man was here.

A woman, and an attractive one at that, had walked up to me, her nose buried in whatever interesting information had been on her Blackberry that day. I had later found out that her name was Anthea, or something of that sort, and thought that it had suited her perfectly.

“Mister Watson?” she had asked me. I had nodded, forgetting that she hadn’t even looked at me once, let alone seeing me nodding at her.

“Please come with me, Mister Watson,”

I had followed her towards the car, the man’s eyes following me the entire way. He had a very nice car that spoke a lot about the wealth that he possessed and the power that he could exert over me if I didn’t comply with every command he made.

“Ah, Mister Watson. So nice to see you,” the man had smiled at me, showing me all of his teeth. “Get in the car, would you,”

I had complied, my annoyance with Sherlock swaying my judgement to get into the car.

“I’m sorry, but who the hell are you?”

“I, Mister Watson, am an interested party. A _very_ interested party,” he had smiled at me once again, causing a shiver to go down my spine. “What is your relationship with Sherlock Holmes?”

“ _Relationship_?” I hummed slightly, faking thinking, before replying, “No offense to your source, Mr Government Official, but there is no relationship,” I had laughed slightly at the man, “I have known him for four weeks, and we have had three conversations. I wouldn’t consider that a relationship, would you?”

I couldn’t help but be angry. First of all, I had found my roommate completely off his face, smothered by his boyfriend (?), in the room that we have to share with one another. And secondly, a strange man had turned up, demanded that I get into his fancy car, and then demanded to know what my ‘relationship’ was with a drug addict. I think I had the right to be slightly annoyed at the situation.

“No need to get defensive, John. I was simply stating that preventing Sherlock from being bullied by torturing Anderson as punishment during training sessions; letting him reveal all the hidden truths in your life; and then covering for him to me, even though I _know_ that he is currently taking cocaine in his bedroom with one Victor Trevor, seems to me as though you do have a relationship.”

The smirk the man gave me had annoyed me even further.

“Look. I don’t care how _interested_ you are in Sherlock Holmes, but you are bordering on stalking behaviour. How could you know all those things?”

“I have my ways, Mister Watson,”

I had laughed again, “Of course you do,”

“I am willing to offer you a significant amount of money, in return for information about the moves that Sherlock makes on a day-to-day basis,”

“I’m not interested,”

“But, I haven’t even mentioned a-“

“Don’t even bother,” I had sighed, looking around at my surroundings, “Is it okay if I leave now, or are you going to kill me?” I had smiled sarcastically at the man.

Suddenly, my phone had buzzed in my pocket.

**_Come at once, if convenient -SH_ **

“Am I interrupting something, Mister Watson?”

“No, no. Please continue your _fascinating_ explanation of why you think it’s okay to stalk teenage boys,”

My phone had buzzed again.

**_If inconvenient, come anyway -SH_ **

I tapped my fingers against my knee impatiently, staring directly into the eyes of the older man, challenging him.

“I worry about him _constantly_ ,” the man had said, moving his head from side to side slightly. He had almost looked uncomfortable as he said it, even though it was a sentence that was laced with worry and familiar tones. “It’s a shame that you, of all people, have decided to side with Sherlock Holmes. It could be a mistake that you regret very soon. The drugs are only the beginning of Sherlock’s faults,”

“ _Who_ are you?”

“Sherlock would call me his ‘Arch enemy’,”

**_Could be dangerous –SH_ **

“And _that_ is my cue to leave,” I had replied, opening the car door. I had turned around, my foot out of the door, when I had said, “I really _must_ be going now, Mister Government Official. But, I wish you a good day, and hope that I _never_ see you again,” and with that, I got out of the car, and walked quickly back to the dorm room.

When I had gotten there, Victor had left. There was no sign of any drugs, Sherlock having returned to the sixteen year old student persona that he attempted to keep up every day.

The boy himself had been standing by the window, dressed impeccably in his school uniform. He hadn’t turned to greet me, instead he remained staring out across the courtyard.

“So, Victor then?”

Sherlock had hummed slightly, “You knew about Victor long ago, John. It shouldn’t be news to you that we are… _Together_ ,” he had flicked his hand near his face when saying ‘together’, in a way that almost represented passiveness.

“Yeah, well. I find it polite to ask people about these things, instead of presuming them,”

“Have you learned nothing from me, John?”

“I just met a friend of yours,” I had simply said in reply, too tired to respond to Sherlock’s question.

“A _friend_?”

“An enemy,”

Sherlock still hadn’t turned to look at me by this point, so I had taken the time to study him carefully. Sherlock was thinner than he had been when I first met him, his shoulder blades protruding from the blazer that he wore. His curly hair was unruly and greasy looking, as though he had attempted to style it to an acceptable standard with a pound of grease. It hadn’t worked. Sherlock’s bony fingers had tightened on his arms, signalling to me that he could see me looking him up and down.

“Which one?”

“Well, you’re Arch enemy,”

Sherlock had turned, finally, to look me up and down, the same way I had been looking at him moments before. He had sighed slightly, his eyes narrowing as they looked at me.

“Did he offer you money to spy on me?”

“Yes?”

“Did you take it?”

“No,”

Sherlock turned fully and unfolded his arms. He had walked towards me slowly, stopping when he was standing directly in front of me.

“Shame. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time,”

I had stared up at him, watching as his pupils dilated slightly.

“He warned me to stay away. That the drugs were only the beginning,”

Sherlock had chuckled at me slightly, “well, I can’t say that he was wrong. You have met Victor, after all,”

“Sherlock, you know I’m your friend, right?”

At this point, Sherlock had stepped away, digging out the cigarettes that he stored in the skull that I had seen the first day we had met. He had taken one out, and had lit it, hanging himself out of the dorm room window, slightly.

I didn’t receive an answer to that question that night.


	5. Chapter 5

_Third Person POV_

Surprisingly, John saw Sherlock again the next day. What he wasn’t surprised about was Sherlock’s whereabouts when John did see him.

Outside the Head teacher’s office.

_For God’s sake._

Sherlock looked massively smug, clearly impressed with the behaviour that he’d demonstrated. His legs were crossed, his hands twisted together on top of his knee. From where John stood, peering slightly around the corner of the corridor, he could see Sherlock’s fingers twitching slightly. He wondered whether, nearly thirty six hours after he’d last seen the boy, Sherlock was starting to go through withdrawal.

Even if he was, Sherlock still looked mightily pleased with himself, sitting in a position as bad as the one he was in. Sadly for Sherlock, the head teacher wasn’t exactly the kindest of souls, as John had seen on several occasions over the past few weeks of being here.

Somehow though, John knew that this wasn’t the first time that Sherlock had been sitting outside this office. Going by Sherlock’s previous behaviour, John presumed that this seat was somewhere that Sherlock sat regularly.

“Dear god, John. Stop dawdling ‘round the corner and come keep me company, will you?”

John’s mouth snapped shut as he moved his body around the corner.

“Any particular reason why you were standing there _staring_ at me. Or am I just extremely beautiful?”

John spluttered.

“I was wondering why you were sitting outside the Head’s office,”

Sherlock simply smiled at the older boy, turning his head to look at him for the first time. Looking John up and down, he smirked slightly in recognition.

“It appears to me that you’ve found yourself a girlfriend, John. I suppose a congratulations is in order?”

“Since when do you care about my love life?” John asked the younger boy, his eyes narrowing in the process. “In fact, since when have you cared about me or my life at all?”

Sherlock’s back stiffened, “Are you not interested in what I’ve done to get myself here. I told you myself that Mister Wilson isn’t known to send people out of his lessons. So why am I sitting here?” he smiled slightly, watching as John’s eyes widened, knowing that the older boy remembered Sherlock telling him that on his first day.

“So, why have you been sent here then? You must have done something bad. I mean, I’ve seen every single one of my other teachers send someone else out at least once. But never Wilson.” This was true; John was a part of classes where people didn’t seem to want to learn as much as he did, which annoyed him slightly.

“I was simply trying to give Mister Wilson some advice on how to get around his erectile dysfunction,”

John spluttered slightly, laughing at the thought of how embarrassing that must have been, not only for Mister Wilson himself, but for the rest of the class listening. John knew what it was like to watch Sherlock use his deductive skills upon someone, so he can’t imagine how awkward this situation would have been.

He cleared his throat slightly, before asking his roommate, “What ‘advice’ did you give Mister Wilson?”

Puffing his chest out, Sherlock said, “I just suggested that while BDSM is something that he will definitely enjoy in the future, it is his choice of partner that is preventing him from getting an erection,”

“What’s up with his partner?”

“Mister Wilson’s partner is a woman,”

John’s eyes widened, “Oh, so you’re saying-?”

“Mister Wilson is, in fact, a homosexual. I don’t believe he knows he is as of yet, but he stares far more at the good looking boys in the classroom than he does the girls. That and he continually places his hand on my arm or back when he believes he’s ‘helping’ me,” Sherlock smiled arrogantly, happy that he was finally being listened to.

“How did you know that he’s into BDSM with his girlfriend?”

“That was purely Mister Wilson’s fault,” Sherlock claimed, “he left his shirt sleeves rolled up, so any idiot with eyes could see that he had very distinct bruising around his wrists. Bruising made by ropes. Now, unless Mister Wilson had been kidnapped at the weekend, I doubt that the bruises could have come from any other source besides BDSM,”

John shook his head, laughing because he was surprised by Sherlock’s knowledge on the subject.

“So, you told everyone, including Mister Wilson himself, that he’s gay and loves BDSM?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, looking and sounding utterly impressed with himself. “You should have seen it, John. Mister Wilson went as bright as a tomato, and managed to get spit on me in the fourth row. He sent me out immediately, but no one was laughing,” Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion wondering why no one had found his revelation funny.

“You embarrassed the man, a well-respected man at that, by revealing something about himself that he didn’t even know,” John paused for a moment, his hands fisted at his sides, “People respect him because he treats us like adults, instead of like children like every other teacher in this bloody school. People like him. So, when you attacked him, people didn’t respect _you_ for it. If it was another teacher, then maybe. But not Wilson,”

Sherlock’s head dropped slightly, understanding that he perhaps deserved any punishment that he received, especially if it had upset John. After the Victor incident, Sherlock had planned to try and get back into John’s good books, but this would set him back even further.

“Why are you sitting out here then, and not in there with the Head?”

Sherlock cleared his throat, his mouth opening to reply when the door to the Head’s office opened, revealing the man John had been kidnapped by the day before.

“You,” he accused sternly, his entire body stiffening and shaking at the same time.

The man wore another pristine suit, umbrella in hand, as he walked out of the Head teacher’s office, smiling at John almost sarcastically.

“Hello again, Mister Watson,”

Sherlock stood, moving to stand slightly in front of John, watching the man leave the office and come to stand in the centre of the corridor.

“Well?”

“Well what?” The older looking man replied, raising his eyebrows to look almost innocent.

“Did you get me out of trouble, or not?”

The man laughed, showing the two boys all of his teeth. Despite talking to both of them, his attention was definitely focused on Sherlock. Reminding John of the conversation that he had had with the man the day before in his expensive looking car.

“Now, why would I do that when you’re so desperate to get yourself into trouble?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, turning away from both John and the other man in, what John could only describe as, a sulk. Every day, Sherlock reminded John of a petulant child who always wanted his own way, or no way.

“I don’t know whether Sherlock has told you about his,” the man paused for a moment, “recreational activities, John, but it appears that Sherlock Holmes is intent on ruining his life before it has even begun,”

John looked Sherlock up and down, noting the stiffness of the boy’s back.

“I thought I told you yesterday that I wasn’t going to leave Sherlock alone, no matter how much money you offered me, or how many tales you told me,”

The man looked John up and down, questioning himself on how he had underestimated John Watson the previous day. It seemed to him now, that Sherlock Holmes had finally found an ally, and not just someone to fuck like Victor Trevor was.

“Indeed. Then it’s a good thing, Mister Watson, that I’m not here to talk to you,” he turned his attention back to the younger boy, staring at his back and, almost, compelling him to turn around and face him. “Sherlock, mummy is extremely worried about your behaviour at the moment. Perhaps, you should call her and update her on how you’re doing, no?”

“Mummy?”

“Mother, our mother,” Sherlock clarified, turning to face his brother. “So, you didn’t come here to get me out of trouble then?”

“No, little brother. I came to ensure it,” John’s eyebrows rose, “Perhaps a little punishment will help you learn to keep your mouth shut,”

“Mycroft,” John said, finally understanding exactly who this man was, and why he had been trying to get to John.

Both Mycroft and Sherlock turned their heads to look at John, the blonde moving back a step from the intensity of the glare that both Holmes brother sent.

“Sorry,” he apologised quietly.

“You know that I don’t like talking to mummy,” Sherlock said.

“Well, perhaps you should consider changing that, since I am now in control of your trust fund,” Mycroft replied smugly, his hand twisting the end of his umbrella around in front of his face.

Sherlock’s face darkened, his eyes narrowing in the process, “You wouldn’t,”

John didn’t understand what it was that Mycroft would do, but going by Sherlock’s reaction it wasn’t something that Sherlock wanted to happen. He stepped forward, pressing his shoulder against Sherlock’s to show him that he was there to support him.

“I’m not going to pretend that I know what you’re talking about doing, but I would suggest that you don’t do it,”

“And why not?”

At this moment, Sherlock stepped in, “because we know you’re little secret,” he said smugly, folding his arms across his chest. When Mycroft narrowed his eyes, John knew that Sherlock had hit his target.

“I don’t know what you’re-“

“Now, what would your superiors think if they discovered that you, of all people, are dating a man. A potential underage man at that,”

Mycroft blinked a couple of times, clearly wondering how Sherlock knew about this information.

“Believe me, brother, I’m not one talk, but I don’t think having a boyfriend would go down very well with a bunch of old stuffy men, do you?”

John watched as Mycroft’s entire body stiffened, his eyes closing briefly as he considered exactly what Sherlock was saying to him.

“You know how they’ll react,” Sherlock sighed softly, sounding sympathetic for the first time in the entire conversation. John knew that Sherlock was gay (with Victor attempting to suck his face off yesterday, how could he not?), but the fact that Mycroft was as well made him wonder about the Holmes parents.

“Well played, Sherlock. I will leave you be, for now, if you don’t mention this again,” Mycroft held out his hand to his younger brother, and grasped Sherlock’s hand firmly when the younger Holmes joined their hands.

“Please, Sherlock, call mummy and let her know that you’re still alive,”

“I’m sure that she would _love_ that,” Sherlock replied sarcastically, pulling his hand away from his brother’s quickly.

“Please don’t make things difficult with her. You know how she can get,”

“Yes, yes, Mycroft. I understand,”

Mycroft straightened out his suit, turning to John briefly to say, “please, Mister Watson, take care of him for me,” before walking down the corridor and turning the corner and out of sight.

“So, that was-“

“Yep,”

“That was… Unexpected,”

“Did he offer you money to spy on me?”

“Yes,”

“Did you take it?”

John chuckled slightly, turning to look at his roommate, “no,”

Sherlock shook his head, a big smile on his face as he said, “Shame. We could have split the money. Think it through next time,”

“You’re a dick, you know that?”

Sherlock smile grew even wider, “I have been told so on numerous occasions,”

“Serves you right,” John sighed slightly, remembering where they were, “wonder what he’ll give you as punishment. I mean, it can’t be too bad, can it?”

Sherlock only hummed in response, already lost inside his Mind Palace as he attempted to shift around the importance of the rooms.

After all, Sherlock couldn’t very well go on having Victor Trevor’s room as the most important, when Mycroft was showing such an interest in John Watson, could he?

John Watson was very important to Sherlock Holmes.

Not that he would tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyy... I'm sorry that it's been a while, but I've had no motivation to do anything. I'm sorry. I hope to start updating more regularly, but year thirteen is a big year for my education, so, we'll have to see.   
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter :)

**Author's Note:**

> So, my mocks are pretty soon, and I don't know whether I'll have any time to update this before then, but I'll try.


End file.
